


you got me trippin', stumblin'

by prettyluke (buttonjimin)



Series: hurt/comfort fics [3]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Broken Bones, Fluff, Hurt Luke, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Not Ashamed, I'm Sorry, M/M, not really angst but could be construed that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonjimin/pseuds/prettyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke breaks his ankle and won't tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you got me trippin', stumblin'

**Author's Note:**

> title from clumsy by fergie, i'm laughing so hard this is naomi's fault <3

It is never, ever a good thing to hear Michael yell, “Eat shit, Hemmings!”, but it’s worse when Calum’s on his team. Luke doesn’t conclude all of this until later, but his eyes do lock on the ball headed straight for his face. Calum may not have played for months, but he hasn’t lost his touch, and Luke panics, his whole body twisting as he ducks out of the way. His foot catches in one of the ruts in the grass and lodges in place as he tries to pivot, and then he’s letting out a surprised scream as he falls to the grass.

For a few seconds, Luke doesn’t think; all he can perceive is the nauseating pain shooting through his ankle, and when he finally is able to open his eyes, he can tell his face is quickly becoming damp. He’s curled on the ground, clutching his ankle, and he sees feet coming towards his face.

He becomes aware in the following moments that there’s only one thing to do: bullshit.

He allows himself only a minute of lying on the ground before he’s trying to sit up, gathering up every ounce of strength to force a smile onto his face. He’s aware his hands are trembling from the awful pain, and it’s taking everything he has not to burst into tears on the spot. He knows what kind of shit that’ll bring, so he resolutely refuses to do that. God, Michael would give him such shit for crying over a fall.

“Jesus, Luke, are you okay?” Calum asks, reaching him first. Michael is close behind, he can see, and Ashton has completely forgotten the ball and is sprinting in his direction.

“I’m fine, everything’s fine,” Luke babbles, his throat tightening up. “I’m all good! Just a trip.”

“Kind of looked like your ankle rolled,” Calum says, looking concerned and kneeling by him. “You screamed pretty loud.”

“I’m fine, though,” Luke says, turning his face to try and recompose himself before anyone comments.

“Luke!” Ashton says frantically, throwing himself down on the grass. “Are you okay?” He swivels his head and glares at Calum and Michael. “You dicks.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Calum protests. “He tripped.”

“Yeah, he’s always falling over his own feet,” Michael adds helpfully. “God, Luke, are you crying?”

“No!” Luke uses the front of his shirt to dry his face. “S-sweating, I’m sweating, it’s super hot. I’m gonna go back to the hotel.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Michael exclaims, stealing the ball from Ashton and pretending to dribble. He looks ridiculous, and Luke would laugh at any other time. “C’mon, Luke, it’s just a trip.”

“Does it hurt a lot?” Ashton asks, touching it with a finger. Luke jerks back, flinching, and shakes his head vehemently. It hurts like _hell,_ but he can’t say that. He’s almost dizzy with it, like that time Calum managed to kick the ball straight into his stomach or when he went ice skating and hit his head so hard on the ice he ended up with a concussion.

“I should get back,” Luke repeats, trying ever harder to keep smiling. “You guys can have fun without me.”

All he has to do is get back to the hotel. It’ll be harder when he’s off the grass, since the impact is at least lower here. It’s just around the corner, though, and he’s damn well going to get there.

He takes Calum’s outstretched hand and pulls himself to his feet, hobbling towards the curb. Ashton walks alongside him, brow furrowed. “Luke, I can carry you back if you need me to.”

“I’m fine,” Luke reiterates, forcing a laugh that sounds almost frightening. “Go ahead and keep playing! Just gonna get back to the hotel.”

Ashton nods uneasily, hanging back. “Call me if you want me there, okay?”

“It’s nothing, but thanks,” Luke says, and steels himself to go faster. The second he’s behind the hill, he lets the fake smile slip from his face and grimaces, fighting off a round of tears. He can barely put his weight onto his right foot, which will be a problem later on. For tonight, at least, he just has to get back to the hotel, and then out to the bus later on. No performance, easy peasy.

It feels like someone stabbed his ankle, and he knows internally that something is pretty wrong, but refuses to submit to it. He’s an expert at hiding pain of all sorts; he grew up trying to pretend to two mischievous older brothers that their pranks and teasing didn’t hurt them, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t. There was, of course, the infamous time that Jack shoved him out of the tree and knocked him flat on his stomach, fracturing his rib; neither of them had known it was fractured, and Luke remembers the world spinning around him as he tried to push air into his lungs and lay there for what seemed like ages, wheezing until Jack finally called Mum. Then there was the time they teamed up on him and hid his favorite teddy bear, and he had lain awake pretending he didn’t miss it until well into the night and started crying so loudly Ben had to let him sleep in his bed and had even given him back the teddy.

He should thank them when he gets back to Sydney, because otherwise he wouldn’t have the fortitude to limp back to the hotel without crying or making any ungodly noises.

When he gets back to the room, he collapses onto the bed and drags himself up so he lays against the pillows. His ankle still throbs, and he can tell it’s starting to swell up pretty badly. That’ll be fun to explain to the fans. Maybe instead of romanticizing his slim legs, they can romanticize the giant lump that his ankle has become. He pulls out his phone and texts a quick _good luck_ to Ashton, who must now be fending against Calum and Michael by himself. Of course, Michael’s not much good as it is, and Ashton can at least hold his own, so it’s more of an Ashton vs. Calum now, but he knows Calum will still crush him. Calum mostly keeps Michael on his team for his superior trash talking skills.

There’s not much to do, so he flips on the TV and busies himself watching some subtitled telenovela. It’s going to be a long day ahead of him, but if he bites his lip hard enough, he can almost distract himself from the shooting pain in his ankle.

 

* * *

 

Ashton returns about half an hour later. Luke can still hear Calum and Michael giggling their way down the hall to the room next door, and is glad he only has to deal with Ashton, who is by far the most sympathetic of his bandmates.

“I brought you back some lunch,” Ashton says, tossing a wrapped sub at him. “Stopped at the sub shop on the corner. You feeling better?”

A little aspirin can go a long way. A lot of aspirin can go even longer. Luke nods, half-honest; it still hurts, but right now he can stomach it, although it’s turned a grotesque shade of purple. It helps, too, that he’s been lying on the bed for a while now, and hasn’t moved his leg a bit. “It was just a fall, Ash. Nothing to get worked up over.”

“You should shower, then,” Ashton says with a shrug. “I’m gonna go take one, and then you go. You’re covered in dirt and sweat, you know.”

Luke glances quickly over all his exposed skin, and reluctantly agrees. He’s probably getting this bed all dirty just by lying on it. “Okay, fine.” He digs into his sub, grateful for some food to occupy his mind. At least he’s not hungry anymore, just trying to ignore his massively swollen ankle.

Whatever.

Ashton’s showers are always quick, and Luke finds himself dreading Ashton’s return. It means he’ll have to move and test his weight, which he expects, even with aspirin, will not be easy or fun. Hopefully this will go away in a few days, even if he’s a little stiff when performing.

Soon enough, Ashton is emerging from the bathroom, toweling his hair off. “Alright, you’re up,” he says cheerfully. “Love ya.”

Luke prepares himself for a jolt of pain and slides his leg as rigidly over the side of the bed as he can, grateful he changed into sweatpants that both hide his deformed ankle and allow for easy changing. It’s a struggle to just make it to the bathroom, and to make matters worse, there’s no bathtub, just a shower. Fuck.

He pees, strips, and turns on the water. It rushes out of the shower head, steaming up the already muggy room. Luke steps over the edge and shuts the glass door after himself. The aspirin must be wearing off, although he’s not allowed to take another dose for a while, which is balls. He can’t stand very well, and winces every time he tries to put his weight on his right foot. Washing his left leg requires a delicate procedure of ducking his head under the water while he bends over, unable to balance on his right leg, and pulling up again for air.

When he stands up straight again, he puts too much weight back on his foot and nearly screams, swallowing it and gasping instead. He pauses for a moment, trying to balance on his left foot with just the toes of his right touching the enamel flooring. His breathing is heavy in his chest and his face screws up, unwanted tears slipping over his cheeks. He rubs at them furiously and tries to cry silently, dreading the thought of Ashton noticing and, knowing him, taking him to the doctor. It’s just a fall, and it’s probably going to pass.

“Luke? Are you still showering?” Ashton’s voice comes through. “You’re taking awfully long, you alright?”

It’s been twenty minutes. God, he’s wasted so much water. “Y-yeah,” Luke calls out, fighting to keep his voice steady through the tears. “I’m just—just—relaxing.”

“You sure? You don’t sound alright.”

“Mmhm, yeah. It’s okay.”

“Alright,” Ashton says doubtfully. “Call if you need me.”

Luke waits a minute before releasing a shuddery sigh and washing away the tearstains. He leans against the cold tile wall and breathes in and out, trying to regulate it before he gets out of the shower. His ankle throbs in reminder, and he clenches his fist so tight he’s afraid his nails will break skin.

When he can finally keep a straight face, he limps out of the shower, almost falling on his face when his foot catches on the edge. He regains his balance and grabs his towel, drying himself off. He gingerly brushes it over his ankle, but decides the resulting pain isn’t worth it, and leaves it to dry on its own. He yanks back on his sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt and hobbles out of the bathroom, immediately evening his gait when he’s in Ashton’s sight. The last thing he needs is for Ashton to realize that he can’t fucking walk.

Easier said than done, he finds. Putting even the littlest bit of weight on his right leg sends excruciating, shooting pains up his whole leg. He bites down on his lip hard enough that he fears it might bleed, something he always thought was impossible but is looking seriously likely. Holy _fuck_ , does it hurt. Maybe he sprained his ankle, or something. If he can concuss himself ice skating, this is within the realm of possibility. He manages to get onto the bed, avoiding Ashton’s concerned eyes.

“Your ankle still bothering you?” he asks. “You’re limping a bit.”

Luke would like to be in a wheelchair, but he shrugs casually and smiles weakly. “Just a little, guess I twisted it. No biggie, though.”

A little bit of honesty is always the way to go with Ashton; Ashton knows Luke too well to fall for blind denials. He can at least accept that Luke’s in a bit of pain, and maybe lay off him for a while. “Whatever. You probably should have iced it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Luke says. “Can we just watch some TV?”

“Anything you want, babe,” Ashton says with a smile. “Wanna cuddle?”

And Luke does want to cuddle, so he grits his teeth and drags himself over to Ashton’s bed.

 

* * *

 

By the time it’s time to get on the bus, his ankle is sending sharp waves of pain through his leg. He can’t take another dose of aspirin for a couple of hours, unfortunately, and so he’s going to have to grin and bear it, probably literally. Ashton’s been helpful and got all his stuff packed after hearing a mumbled excuse about his ankle hurting and wanting to stay off it so he can perform tomorrow.

The walk to the bus is half the struggle. Luke is glad they don’t have to walk down stairs, although he can’t name a hotel that doesn’t have an elevator these days. There’s no way he would have made it down the stairs. It feels like it’s getting worse, to the point where he’s not sure he’s going to make it. At any point, he is prepared to completely topple over. He’s almost about to swallow his pride and start limping to take the strain off his right leg when he spots Michael waiting as the crew loads the equipment into the stow of the bus, and tries even harder, if anything, to walk normally. His whole body is tense with the effort, his teeth clenched and his stomach churning. God, he’s going to throw up soon if he doesn’t get off his leg; it’s making him sick, it’s so bad.

“You alright, mate?” Calum asks, raising an eyebrow as he walks (with some difficulty) past.

“Still limping over that little fall?” Michael teases. “What a princess.”

Luke flips Michael off with no hesitation, and drags himself onto the bus. He’s holding his breath, he realizes, trying not to cry out whenever the impact of walking jars up his leg. “I’m fine,” he bites. “Lay off.”

The last challenge of the day is getting into his bunk, which is a higher one. It’s like the universe _wants_ Luke to struggle. He’s glad the other boys are still waiting outside as he tries desperately to pull himself into the bunk. It’s a good thing he’s been doing those pushups with Michael on top of him, because otherwise he wouldn’t have the strength to pull himself up, although he does cheat and push off the ground with his good foot. When he’s finally lying in his bunk, he lets out a pained sigh and slides the curtain shut.

He tries to take deep breaths and ignore his ankle. It’s probably a sprain, he decides; he should get it checked out tomorrow at the venue. Maybe someone can wrap it. He splays his fingers out on his chest and does his best not to move his ankle. He can hear the other boys filing onto the bus now, talking and laughing amongst themselves. In a few seconds, his curtain is being pulled aside with a _snick_ of metal rings sliding on the metal bar. Ashton’s smiling face peeks through.

“Doing alright, babe?” he says sweetly, kissing Luke’s dimly lit face. “I’ll tell Michael off, if you want.”

“Don’t bother,” Luke says grumpily. “I’m gonna try and sleep.”

“I’ll tell him off anyway. Sleep tight.”

Luke exhales heavily as Ashton shuts the curtain again. He stares at the ceiling of his bunk, tapping his guitar parts out on his chest to try and distract himself. The pain isn’t subsiding, and his eyes are watering up, uninvited. He can’t help it, especially when the bus jerks forward suddenly and jolts his leg. He swallows a pained cry. It’s definitely getting worse, since he can’t even stay still and fight the pain. He bites onto the neck of his t-shirt, muffling his whimpers. His throat tightens, and he blinks rapidly in attempt to curb the tears.

Goddamnit. Why did he do all that walking? The bus hits another bump in the road, and jerks his whole body. Another suppressed cry.

He should tell Ashton, he _could_ tell Ashton, but what if Michael found out? Even Calum? The band already teases him for being a _princess_ and a _baby,_ and surely he can stomach a bit of pain. It was just a fucking fall, like he’s had a million times before. Surely he can handle this. He shuts his eyes and does his best to get comfortable long enough to fall asleep.

He quickly figures out that it’s not possible, thanks to the inordinate amount of bumps and the constant sharp pain in his ankle. His resolve is wearing thin, and then he’s crying, just little hot tears at first that shouldn’t bother him but do. And as it always does, silent crying in his bunk rapidly turns into heavy, ugly sobs that don’t ease the pain in his ankle, but feel good nonetheless. He covers his face with his hands (not that it matters, the curtain is closed), and allows his whole body to shake.

Of course, Ashton’s bunk is right across, and Luke flinches when he yanks the curtain open and is running a quick hand through Luke’s mussed hair. “Luke,” he says softly, “what’s wrong?”

Luke hiccups and sits up, scrubbing at his cheeks. “Are they around?” he asks, making an awful coughing noise as another sob rips through him.

Ashton shakes his head, eyes wide and worried. “No, no, they’re in the back lounge. What’s going on? Homesick?”

Luke shakes his head so fervently it bangs against the top of his bunk and he lets out a half cry, half moan. “It hurts so bad,” he sobs. “I just want it to stop hurting.”

“Your ankle?” Ashton says, understanding flashing across his face. “That bad?”

“Hurts like hell,” Luke gasps out. “I don’t know, it hurts so bad, I want to throw up.” His head drops to his chest, crying pathetically and letting the tears soak the front of his shirt where they drip off his chin.

Ashton shifts into mother hen mode almost automatically. “Let’s get you up to the front of the bus,” he says. “Can you walk?”

Luke shakes his head again, knuckles white where he grips the edge of the bunk. “I’m gonna call Michael and Calum,” Ashton says, and Luke’s eyes fly wide open in panic.

“No, please,” Luke begs desperately. “They’re gonna laugh.” He starts crying harder, knowing it’s ridiculous at this point to put up any sort of protest whatsoever, but Ashton is patient, and strokes his cheek, wiping away some tears with his thumb. It hardly matters; Luke’s whole face is soaked now, and he can’t stop crying now that he’s started. “Michael’s just gonna call me a princess again.”

“Luke, babe, I think you must have really hurt yourself,” Ashton says gently. “We should at least get you onto one of the couches so you’re more comfortable. It’s too narrow here for me to carry you. You won’t fit unless we cut off your feet.”

Luke lets out a panicked sob at that and Ashton quickly amends, “We’re not gonna do that, I promise.”

Ashton helps Luke down first, practically lifting him onto the floor of the bus. They both brace a hand on the bunks to keep on their feet while the bus moves, and then Ashton yells for both boys to come and help. Luke squeaks and hides his face in Ashton’s neck, feeling his face flush in embarrassment. God, nobody’s ever going to let him live this down. Crying over a little twisted ankle.

They come bounding up to the front of the bus, cheeks flushed and hair messed up, which Luke would tease them for most days. Right now, his ankle hurts so much from standing here that he’s having trouble breathing. Ashton is trying to support him and simultaneously stroke his back and keep his balance, which makes for a difficult combo.

“Can someone take Luke’s other side?” Ashton says. “We’re gonna get him up to one of the couches.”

“Make him walk,” Michael says, still behind Luke.

“Oh my god,” Ashton mutters. “Michael, can you stop being a dick for a few minutes? This is a crisis. Calum, can you tell the driver to stop for a bit?”

Michael comes up to take Luke’s other side and his jaw falls slack, finally seeing Luke’s tear-streaked, blotchy face. And they’ve all known each other long enough to tell from a glance that it’s not just a few little tears. “Whoa,” Michael says, pausing with his arm around Luke’s waist. “What’s wrong?”

“Come on, help me get him to the couch,” Ashton repeats, ignoring him. “He can’t walk.”

It’s a bit awkward to limp between two boys, but it has to be done. When Luke finally collapses onto the sofa, his whole body seems to relax a bit.

“We should get a look at your ankle,” Ashton says, and pushes up the leg of Luke’s sweatpants. All the boys hiss at the nasty sight. “Jesus fucking christ, Luke, it’s huge. No wonder you can’t walk.” He glares particularly at Michael, who is still staring at Luke’s ankle in horror.

“You might have broken it,” Calum says, clearly shocked. “One of the kids on my footy team did, once. It swelled up just like this.”

“Oh, fuck,” Ashton sighs. “I’m gonna tell the driver to drive to a hospital. Better take care of this now.”

Luke sniffles and nods, giving in. Ashton moves to the little driver’s compartment, and Luke hiccups a few times as he lays there and waits.

“Christ, Luke, I’m sorry,” Michael says guiltily, sitting next to him and brushing the hair off his forehead. “I didn’t know it was so bad.”

“I was the one who kicked the ball, I’m sorry too,” Calum says, kneeling. “We’re gonna get you all patched up, though. Don’t cry.”

Between the two of them, they manage to dry Luke’s face, and Michael holds Luke’s hand for him. Luke is grateful for the comfort, even though he’s still white in the face and fighting off the nausea. He’s managed to calm down a bit when Ashton comes back and the bus reroutes.

“Don’t you worry,” Ashton says, kissing him. “It’s going to be okay.”

Luke is just relieved that this hell will end soon.

 

* * *

 

Luke comes out of surgery two hours later with a pink cast around his lower leg, eyes still red-rimmed but smiling tremulously as he gets wheeled out by a pair of helpful nurses, who hand him his crutches. He rises from the chair, beginning the slow journey over to them. He’s back in the t-shirt and sweatpants, one leg rolled up, and Ashton suspects he’ll probably wear that for a while, seeing as he can’t exactly wear skinny jeans now.

Ashton is first to reach him and wrap his arms around him. Luke tries awkwardly hugging him back with his crutches. He sags against Ashton, probably exhausted from being in pain for so long. “Can we go home now?” he mumbles.

“The bus is right outside still,” Ashton says with a laugh. “You might have to fight off some fans, but we’ll try and get you through them. You still in pain?”

Luke shakes his head sleepily. “Only a lil,” he says with a sigh. “‘M drugged up.”

Michael is starting for Luke’s pristine pink cast with a sharpie. “Wait, Luke! I’m going to decorate it! I’m gonna be first!”

Luke gawks at Michael falling to his knees and beginning to scribble, but can’t do much. Calum hugs him from behind and rests his chin on his shoulder. “You’re such a champ,” he says. “I’ll carry you onstage tomorrow night.”

Michael’s signed his own name and a note that Luke can’t read from this position. Calum is busy kissing Luke’s cheek, earning indignant stares from both Ashton and Michael (although for vastly different reasons). “You should have told me you’d broken your fucking ankle,” he says, trying to mask his relief at seeing Luke patched up. “I would have been nicer.”

“I’m not a fucking doctor,” Luke mutters. “Sure, Michael, next time I break something, I’ll come to you to hear you call me a princess again.”

“I would not say that,” Michael says, blushing and shoving the sharpie back into his pocket. “Let’s go. I need my sleep.”

Luke crutches his way out to the bus, Michael and Ashton walking out first to fend off the gathered fans (literally what the fuck are they here for?), and Calum sticking behind to guard Luke. Luke’s ready to fall over, but he’s glad to have been fixed up, even if it’s going to be six weeks before he can get the cast off. When he reaches the steps of the bus, Calum takes his crutches, and Ashton hoists him up on his back and up the stairs before setting him down on the couch.

“Alright, hand over the sharpie,” Ashton says to Michael. “My turn.” He takes it and bends over Luke’s cast, tongue between his lips as he writes carefully. Luke shuts his eyes, feeling the exhaustion overwhelm him. He drifts off as the sharpie gets passed back and forth.

When he does wake up in the morning, he looks over what they wrote. There’s an obscene amount of dicks and profanities, which he knows is Michael’s fault, and Ashton’s _get better soon, babe :) xx_. It’s nothing too explicit, seeing as the fans will probably get pictures and zoom in on it, and they can’t be advertising their relationships so openly. But Luke knows Ashton will make up for it by babying Luke all week. Calum’s is a quick _love u lukey, we’ll be playing lots of fifa (I can tell the future_ ) and a tiny heart. It takes Luke a while to find Michael’s, but in the midst of a myriad of cartoon penises, he does find it.

_Lukey babes, I definitely didn’t know your ankle was broken :( I hope you forgive me someday. you’re still my little baby and I’ll be nicer to you <3 love mikey_

Luke smiles to himself, glancing towards the back of the bus where his bandmates lie when he hears a thump and some shuffling. In a few minutes, Ashton walks up to the front of the bus and sits down next to Luke, kissing his forehead and smiling sleepily.

“Love you,” he murmurs into Luke’s shoulder. “Feeling okay?”

Luke feels something fond and warm and happy in his chest, and he’s dizzy with love, not just for Ashton but for his whole band.

Yeah, he’s okay.

(Michael is nicer for about five minutes, but Luke doesn’t care.)

**Author's Note:**

> basically i'm a piece of shit who enjoys hurting luke lmao  
> i was in a rut with everything so i decided to write a little side oneshot for ya guys. i am not ashamed of myself in the least  
> ALSO HELLA EXCITED FOR JBH TO COME OUT TONIGHT OMF  
> love you all, go read flowers in your hair (boys can't be pretty) xxxx


End file.
